Cut-Throat
by Addy Anonymous
Summary: In the worldwide economy, large corporations have reached the top of the ladder, harboring fans internationally—as well as enemies. When an international serial killer seems to have spurred a spree of murders targeting higher-ups in business, Seto Kaiba begins to fear for his life… and is in need of a bodyguard who may take the form of a familiar face. [Kaiba x Jounouchi. Rated T]


**Author's Note: It has literally been years since I've posted on here… I just hope I've gotten better. Anywho, enjoy this fic. It is multi-chapter, and I'm actually writing this for a project. So please, leave feedback and constructive criticism if you can! Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Yu-Gi-Oh! Franchise or its characters.**

**Summary: In the worldwide economy, large corporations have reached the top of the ladder, harboring fans internationally—as well as enemies. When an international serial killer seems to have spurred a spree of murders targeting higher-ups in business, Seto Kaiba begins to fear for his life… and is in need of a bodyguard who may take the form of a familiar face. [Kaiba x Jounouchi. Rated M for violence and language.]**

_New York City, New York, USA; 02:13, 28__th__ December, 2013._

New York never laid to rest. The drunken buzz of the city was at its peak, wrapped in silky lights and filled with promises of the dead of night. Times Square was alive and thriving at 2 AM. The tourists had finally tucked themselves in, leaving the City that Never Sleeps to the professionals. Lights flashed, brilliantly colored advertisements occupying every available facet for the public. Raucous laughter filled the street air and the twinkling reflections of the skyline illuminated the water of the Brooklyn Bay.

A man shouldered his way amongst the glamour and vibrance of the late-night city scene. He was scowling, his forehead creased with wrinkles of frustration and worry. Clad in an expensive-looking tailored suit, the man was no doubt one of wealth. White stubble dotted his chin and the set of his dark eyes was one of weariness.

He couldn't help but feel annoyed, grumbling under his breath as he narrowed his eyes against the abrasively lit-up ads of Times Square. Manhattan was a pain, he thought. No use in this tourist trap for native New Yorkers. He trudged down countless avenues and streets despite the ungodly hour, his steps dragging with lethargy.

The man was uncaring as he shouldered past grimy, lingerie-clad hookers lingering in the alleyways of the borough. He walked these streets with tired confidence, with the swagger of a powerful man in a tiring world. Before long, he had found his destination—a sleek, black sports car nestled in a quiet getaway from the heart of Manhattan. Without a word, he slipped in, unaware of his impending fate.

This was his daily routine. The man tiredly muttered out a few orders to his blear-eyed chauffer before groaning. This was his daily routine, a tiring, grueling day at the office before driving away back to his lonely mansion with no one but his chauffer. He frowned, eyelids sliding closed as the familiar hum of the car thrummed to life. A dreary, tired life it was, he knew. The man simply sighed, succumbing to the waves of sleep nagging at him.

As he fell into his slumber, the chauffer sighed. The man had a rich life of luxury, true. But an unhappy one, at that.

The chauffer shook his head, maneuvering the car carefully. How sad, he thought pitifully.

_All the more reason to have him dead._

A devious smirk crossed the driver's lips, the quietest snicker escaping him.

_Domino City, Japan; 11:24, 30__th__ December 2013._

Tired, irritated, and a little smelly, Katsuya Jounouchi simply lay in bed, wrapped up in his blankets.

He gave a low groan, shifting the slightest bit as the bright golden light of the morning sun filtered in through the window, landing square on his face. The blonde was _not_ a morning person, whatsoever. He had failed to come to consciousness at 7 in the morning every single day in high school—and adulthood was no different. Jounouchi had parted ways with his looming high school only three years prior, graduating with his friends after he had given the institution the finger and a few choice words.

Now here he was, 21 years old, working a minimum-wage job while living on his own in a small, ratty apartment that claimed the privilege of not being smack-dab in the middle of the asscrack of Domino City.

If Jounouchi was being honest with himself, he hadn't changed much from his days in high school. He was still rebellious, still a loud-mouth. The young man still boasted a hot-headed temper. Yes, Jounouchi was still the same blonde smart-ass from high school.

His amber gaze wandered over to the clock blearily, still sleep-ridden. Jounouchi broke into a loud yawn as he slowly registered the ti—

"_Dammit!"_ he howled, inelegantly fumbling out of his bed. "It's already 11:30?" he exclaimed to no one in particular (Jounouchi lived on his own, now. No roommates.) He let out a stream of profanities, hurriedly kicking on a pair of jeans and wrestling out of his grimy white tee.

In a flurry of haphazard motions, the blonde managed to scramble out of his room mostly-clothed. Toothbrush dangling from his mouth, Jounouchi rifled through the small cabinets of his (makeshift) kitchen. Amber eyes flashing, he snatched a half-eaten granola bar from the pantry, as his search of the cabinets for real breakfast-food was fruitless, before spitting out the frothy toothpaste in his mouth. The blonde hastily took a bite before gagging, realizing belatedly he forgot to rinse his mouth out.

Nevertheless, Jounouchi swallowed forcefully before shoving his feet into his favorite pair of tennis shoes. Grabbing his keys, the young man fumbled around his counter for his last item.

He growled in annoyance, unable to find it. In his haste, the blonde accidently pushed on the radio. He shot the little contraption a look of annoyance as it buzzed to life, but continued searching.

"_Only two days ago, New York civilians reported to have found an expensive black sports-car crashed into tree in a hiking-area close to the Manhattan area. Upon initial investigation, the body of a well-known CEO of an internationally-renowned company was found dead in the backseat. The chauffer was nowhere to be found. This is the third in a…"_

"Ah-ha!" Jounouchi exclaimed enthusiastically as he held up a rusty silver dog-tag collar. A gift from his younger sister years ago, the blonde made it a point to wear it as a daily reminder of young Shizuka. Leaving the radio ignored, the blonde slipped through the door for yet another day of work.

"… _string of what seems to now be recognized as serial murders of people with high power in businesses. And now, for the weather…"_

The room had fallen silent, only the chatter of the weather-report on the television suspended on a wall.

Cold, calculating blue eyes were narrowed into icy chips.

The tension in the air was almost palpable and Seto Kaiba would be ignorant to let it go unnoticed. Luckily, ignorance and idiocy were not a part of his persona.

The brunette leaned back in his leather chair, lacing his slender fingers before him. Seto's blue gaze flicked across the conference room, settling for moments on each of the faces seated around the smooth table. The young CEO could feel the negativity practically radiating off of each of them—his brother, secretary, and Public-Relations manager, all looking some degree of horrified.

"I pray to my lucky stars none of you are thinking what I assume you're thinking," Seto broke the silence arrogantly, eyebrows arched. The brunette sneered, tipping his head back slightly to lock eyes with each of them before continuing on brusquely. "This is all nothing more than popular attention. All of this mass-media coverage over the so-called 'murders' are nothing but hype, I am sure."

The quiet crashed back on them once again.

"Seto, I think you should be a little more serious…" Mokuba's tone was concerned. The teen was aged possibly 16 or 17 years, no longer the little kid-brother tagging along Seto's heels. His smooth, raven-black hair highlighted his pale skin and dark blue eyes—the only real similarity the two brothers held.

Seto snorted in response, giving his brother a cynical look. "I am serious, Mokuba."

"Then I hope, by all means, that you reconsider your last statement."

The Kaiba brothers snapped their attention away from each other to turn to Misama Kyou, the Public-relations manager for KaibaCorporation. The woman had an angular, business-like face and sharp green eyes. Atop the bridge of her nose was a pair of thick-rimmed red glasses, which she promptly slipped up her nose with the tip of her index finger. She pursed her lips and gave the CEO a hard look. "Mr. Kaiba, I understand you think the news is fanatical," she continued coolly, "but I highly recommend you invest in taking… measures."

He snorted, shooting her a look of irritation. "And what, pray tell, do you mean by 'measures?'" he spat sarcastically.

"Hire a bodyguard." She answered matter-of-factly, allowing her gaze to linger on Seto's expression. Mokuba raised his eyebrows, his mouth forming a little "o" at the suggestion.

Seto let out a quiet, almost inaudible growl, clenching his jaw. The stunningly handsome young CEO was familiar with bodyguards, oh yes. His step-father Gozaburo had new body-guards on almost a yearly basis, hired to bar the two young Kaiba brothers from the outside world and its poison touch. Seto had hated them always, detesting their presence. He was always one to prefer solitude, independence. A bodyguard being around him all hours of the day stood as an antithesis to Seto's entire being.

"_No."_ he answered flatly, standing up. He brushed off his trench coat, rolling his eyes, before picking up the mug of coffee on the table. "And that is my final answer on that matter,"

"Seto, wait—"

He shot Mokuba another look before breathing out a strained sigh through clenched teeth. "Mokuba, _please._ I don't have time for this."

The younger brother furrowed his brows and opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off as Seto's secretary—a cute, bubbly young woman named Kia in her mid-twenties—let out a gasp. "Mr. Kaiba, look!" she exclaimed, motioning towards the T.V.

Seto groaned but set his mug down nevertheless, turning his unimpressed blue eyes onto the screen as the others did, as well.

"_Breaking News. Upon further investigation, it has been confirmed that the death of the CEO of prized American company, TreyVision, has a link to the other three deaths of higher-ups in internationally-renowned corporations. The Task Force in charge of investigating these deaths has now released the connecting detail. A symbol of sorts has been found either on or around the body of the victim. This connection has caused these deaths to officially be ruled as homicides…"_

All pairs of eyes turned to the CEO as he stared intently on the reporter, a look of mixed annoyance and anxiety flickering in the depths of his icy eyes. Jaw clenched, Seto Kaiba seethed quietly.

"Hang onto that idea, Kyou. Kia, start looking into suitable candidates."

**A/N: Please, please, please drop a review if you read through this chapter, even if it's to let me know you hated it, ahaha! Thank you so much, and once I've gotten some feedback, I'll give chapter 2 a shot. Thank you!**


End file.
